Dreams of Hope, Dreams of Despair
by Lotesse
Summary: For all those who believe that Frodo should never have left his home, a FrodoReturns! story. Nine years after the Grey Havens, Sam's dreams are haunted by what just might be messages from Frodo, messages of love and of lonliness. AU Frodo/Sam friendship
1. In Dreams I Still Hear Your Name

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Dreams of Hope, Dreams of Despair

Author's Note: I am an addict of Frodo and Sam together, not as slash but as true friends. The last chapter of LotR has always broken my heart. I've already brought them back together in my story The Last of the Ringbearers, which tells of Sam's coming to Valinor. (Shameless plug.) This is an alternate ending to the story of these two hobbits, in which Frodo returns to the Shire after nine years of separation. This is completely AU, but I've done my best to justify my departure from the work of the master and make the premise of the story believable. I really just wanted a chance to write another reunion scene. 

Disclaimer: I throw myself at the feet of the Master, the Creator, the Great One, our beloved J.R.R. Tolkien. He is the possessor of all that is great, glorious, and good. I am only playing with the wonderful world he made for us. All characters and settings shall be returned unbroken, I hope.

Chapter 1: In Dreams We Will Meet Again

"But in dreams

I still hear your name

And in dreams

We will meet again."

-_In Dreams_, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring Motion Picture Soundtrack

The sparkling, rippling, silvern song of flowing water wove itself in and out of Sam's dream, twining about him in a more tangled web than the twisted threads of story themselves. Soft tendrils of mist formed an ethereal carpet beneath his feet, and all the colors about him seemed muted, shrouded. Before him rose a great curling wave of fog, obscuring the other from sight. Sam blundered frantically through the thick, moist air, searching desperately for the mist-shrouded figure that he somehow knew would be standing somewhere nearby. All of a sudden, the mists lifted, and Sam gave a gasp of wonder as he saw the face of the other person standing there beside him. Frodo was smiling at him, smiling as he had not done since before the Quest. A pang of longing stabbed through Sam's heart as he thought back to those glad and carefree days. He remembered sitting for hours at the kitchen table in Bag End listening spellbound to old Bilbo's tales of the Elves, toasting chestnuts and apples on the wide, warm hearth with Frodo, walking all over the Shire at his friend's side. Frodo wrapped his arms around Sam, and embraced him tightly, whispering in his ear, "When the leaves turn to gold, look for me. I love you, Sam." And then just like the mist had moments before, he vanished. 

***

Sam awoke with a start. He'd had the dream again, the dream with Frodo returning home to him. He gave a great, shuddering sigh, and roughly dashed the tears from his eyes. His master had been haunting his dreams for nearly a month now, and Rose was beginning to worry about him. He could see it in her eyes. To tell the truth, he was beginning to worry about himself. He got up and tiptoed past the room where Elanor, Frodo-lad, Merry, Pippin, and little Daisy in her cradle slept. He walked blearily into the warm, sunlit kitchen, where he sat in one of the old bentwood chairs. 

He started a second time as someone knocked loudly on the door. Young Tim Smallburrow stood there, is hair in compete disarray, holding a large parchment letter sealed with wax and red ribbons clenched tightly in his plump little hand. The lad was positively squirming with excitement, but Sam gave him no chance to exercise it. He promptly shut the door in the hobbit boy's face, not caring about the rudeness of his actions, merely thankful that a reply had come at last. When he'd started having the strange dreams, he had written to King Elessar and Queen Arwen. At long last, their reply had arrived. 

****

Queen Arwen Undómiel to Mayor Samwise of the Shire: Greetings.

My dear Samwise, it is eminently possible that Frodo is attempting to reach you through your dreams. This is an ancient magic, and is often the cause of what is known as foresight. Your companion Olórin, whom you knew as Gandalf, is a master of this particular form of communication, and it is probable that Frodo has achieved it with his help. I would suggest that you listen to what Frodo is trying to tell you. My best wishes are with both you and him.

Namárië,

A * U

Sam drew in a long, deep breath. Frodo was trying to speak to him. He felt rather as if he had seen a ghost. He sat in silence, trying to collect his wildly roiling thoughts. To find his master, friend, and dearest companion againwell, he had been dreaming of it for years! And somehow he knew, as surely as he knew his own name that he needed to be standing at the Grey Havens on the Twenty-second of September. He rose with a sigh, and went to go inform Rosie that he'd be taking a journey. He knew she would let him go, go to attempt to mend the heart that had lain riven in his breast since that fateful September day nine years before. And he went also to deliver his message of hope to his friends, who needed it as badly as he did. 

***

"What! Sam, I know you want him to, but Frodo isn't coming back! I thought you'd moved on!" Pippin nearly exploded, feeling his own hard-won composure slipping as the subject of their long-absent friend was broached. Sam drew back a little, bit his body language spoke of nothing but determination. 

Merry stepped to his friend's side, and murmured comfortingly, "Pip, I know it's hard to believe, but this isn't just some dream of Sam's. If the Queen thinks that it is important, well, she is the Lady Galadriel's granddaughter, after all. I'm sure she knows more about such things than we do."

Sam felt that it was high time he put in his oar. "It doesn't matter if it's true or not," he shouted. "What matters is that Frodo might come back! There is a chance, and I'm going to be there to greet him if he does come." His voice suddenly softened, becoming more than a little wistful. "It's a chance," he repeated.

"Yes, it is," Said Merry. "And we'll take it. Give it a go, Pip."

Pippin nodded his grudging agreement, internally promising himself that he was not going to get his hopes up only to have them dashed. If Sam wanted to break his heart all over again, well, that was his business. He wasn't going to get exited over a dream. 

***

As twilight fell on the twentieth, Samwise Gamgee set out from Bag End, accompanied by Masters Meriadoc and Peregrin. The two youngest Travelers rode side by side, their gay laughter rising up to tickle the very stars. Sam, however said nothing. He almost envied Merry and Pippin their easy gaiety, which he seemed to lack. At the moment, his heart was troubled and pensive. "Any moment,' he thought, "any moment I may see Frodo. He could be back in Middle-earth. Butis he really coming?" He was assailed by doubt as he rode on into the Tower Hills, wondering if he was merely the victim of wishful thinking, or if it was possible that Frodo was really there. Was he a fool, to put so much meaning into a simple dream? He did not utter anything but monosyllables throughout the long ride, losing himself in his own dark and doubting thoughts. 

***

The next night, as Pippin curled up beside the dying fire, Merry sat himself down beside Sam. "Do you really think he's coming?" he asked quietly. Sam only nodded. "Sam, I know you want to believe this dream, but what happens if it turns out to not be true? I've not forgotten the months after Frodo left. Can you stand to go through that again? Maybe you shouldn't be so sure. The higher they fly, the harder they fall.'

Sam looked up at his friend. "Merry, I have to believe the dream. Let me keep some hope, please. Hope is all that I have left, ever since he's been gone." 

Merry shook his head, obviously worried. "Alright, Sam, you keep your hope. Just remember what I said." With that, he crawled into his own bedroll, which sprawled next to Pippin's, who was already snoring. 

And so it was that three grey-clad hobbits, heavily laden with dreams, hopes, and many fears, rode up to the faintly shining gate of the Grey Havens just as the sun began to set on the Birthday of the Ringbearers. They clattered through the elaborately carved gateway and were confronted by the great vista of the sea stretching out before them. The blood-red sun was slowly being quenched in its foaming waves. The eerie wailing of the sea-mews struck a note of sorrow in the hearts of the three hobbits, who had not heard it since the Sailing of the Ringbearers, nine years ago that day. All the world seemed to be holding its breath, wondering what would came next, whether it would be joy or despair. 


	2. The Dream of Home

Dreams of Hope, Dreams of Despair

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Disclaimer: Again, none of these characters belong to me, although I wish daily that they did. 

Chapter 2: The Dream of Home

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" Who has not felt how sadly sweet

The dream of home, the dream of home

Steals o'er the heart too soon to fleet

When far o'er sea or land we roam?"

-Thomas Moore

Sam, Merry and Pippin stood perfectly still, watching intently as a white ship with a swan-like prow drew closer to the shore on which they had lived out their lives. White sails were furled, and gleaming ropes were tossed from the prow of the ship into waiting hands Recognition flitted through Sam's mind and he muttered, "Hithlain." A gangway was lowered, and all present felt a tingle of anticipation. A small figure, grey-clad, was silhouetted against the fair, white hull of the ship, walking towards them. 

The spell of silence was broken by a glad cry. Sam shouted, "Frodo! Frodo," as he ran forward. The figure looked up quickly, and then threw his arms around Sam's neck, wrapping them as far around his friend as they would go. Frodo felt tears welling up in his eyes as he held his oldest and dearest friend, his Sam, the one companion who had never left his side, to him once more. 

Pippin made as if to follow Sam, but Merry laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Let them have some time, Pip. You know how they must've missed each other. Give them a little time. We have all night to greet cousin Frodo." Pippin nodded, and the two drew back into the gathering shadows.

Sam buried his face in Frodo's wonderfully real jacket, not believing that his dream, his dearest dream, had actually come true. Frodo was standing beside him, embracing him with years worth of feeling. Frodo's breath warmed and dampened his neck, and their tears mingled. He felt his knees grow weak, and he sank to the ground, still clutching at his beloved master. They sat there for a long while, Sam whispering Frodo's name repeatedly in a sort of hymn. At last, pulling way slightly, Frodo whispered, "Sam. I'mI'm home, Sam. I've really come home."

"Oh, Mr. Frodo, I've missed you so! Butyou have come to stay haven't you? You'll not leave me again, Sir? Please"

"Forever, my dearest Sam. I will stay with you forever and a day. But please, you don't have to be so deferential with me anymore. After all, you are the Mayor, and not my gardener."

"How do you know about that?"

Frodo gave him a loving smile, and said, "Do you really think that I wouldn't have been watching you? That I could bear to not see your face for nine years? Oh, my dear SamI could never do that! The master Palántir still stands on the island of Tol Eressea. I've followed everything that's happened to you, and to Merry and Pippin." A thought struck him. "Sam, didn't they come with you?"

Pippin's sharp ears had heard them, and he deemed it high time to make his presence known. He bolted for Frodo, shouting, "Not come? Of course we came!" With that, he caught Frodo up in a bear hug, spinning him about. Frodo was struck again by just how tall his young friend had grown. 

Merry was not far behind, although his greeting was far more restrained than Pippin's. "Frodowelcome home, cousin." Frodo turned to him, hugging him happily and whispering in his ear, "Thank you for taking care of them for me, Merry. I always knew you could do it." Merry smiled, feeling all the heartache and weight of responsibility fall from him. His cousin, leader, and friend was back. 

The stars smiled down at the four small figures, clustered together for the very joy of such close proximity after such long separation. Sam had retained a tight hold on Frodo's right hand, Merry had an arm draped about his neck, and Pippin was cavorting about them like a madman in transports of joy. The burdens of sadness each had carried for so long were dropped and abandoned by the wayside. They were back, they were together, and they were invincible. 

***

True night had fallen over the Havens now, and a tall elf whose dark hair blended into the shadows approached them. "It is late for hobbits to be abroad. If you wish it, Elendilli, you may rest tonight in the old dwelling of Cirdan. It has been unused since the Sailing of the Ring-bearers, save as a way-house for traveling Eledhrim."

"Thank you, Isilmir. We would be grateful indeed for such assistance," said Frodo, still hanging on to Sam's hand for dear life.

A few hours later, when they were seated around a wooden table on well-cushioned chairs, filling up the corners after a magnificent meal of fair white bread and those inimitable apples, Pippin asked the obvious question. "Frodo? Whatwell, why did you come back? And why did you go? And why"

"Oh Pip, "Frodo chuckled. "You haven't changed, have you! Always so curious." He sobered quickly. "As to why I wentI was afraid. Afraid of the darkness, afraid of myself, afraid for you. But, well, that's changed. 

I suppose the proper beginning to all this is a few months ago when Bilbodied." He swallowed convulsively. Sam began to say something but Frodo cut him off. "I'm all right, Sam, it's just still a little painful. After all, he was my only parent for most of my life. 

"Anyway, once he was gone, there was no one. Elves are wondrous creatures, but they never laugh. They have no simple joys, and although Valinor may be paradise for an Elf, for a hobbit it can get rather lonely.

"And then the pain returned. It must have been March last year when I first felt it: the same pain that drove me away in the first place. To be honest, I was quite frightened. I went to Gandalf for help. He was the only one who seemed to be able to really understand me. 

"He, and the Lady Varda-"

At this, Sam gasped audibly. "The Lady Varda, sir? That'sElbereth!"

"Yes, Sam, the Lady of the Stars. She's wonderful, Sam, like the Lady Galadriel, but not sohuman. Stronger than the stars, brighter than the sun, so beautiful that she's frighteningI wish you could see her. She told me that of all the things that keep us going, all the forces that give us the will to prevail, love is the greatest. She said that, all alone in Valinor, I didn't have much love left, and so I subconsciously had no will to live. She said that I would find no further healing until I found love." He paused to smile at Merry, Pippin, and Sam, reassuring them. "There was only one place to find that. Oh, my dear hobbits, I am lucky! I don't think there's ever been a hobbit so loved as I am, though I scarcely deserve it."

"Of course you deserve it, Frodo," interjected Merry.

"And Gandalf arranged it so that a ship would travel to Middle-earth, and when it left, I was aboard it."

Pippin's brow creased. "So, it was all for nothing?"

"No, Pip, it wasn't. It wasn't for nothing because I learned something: no matter how dark life is, no matter how badly you've been hurt, there is only one way to heal. You have to be with friends. Without friends, there's no point in healing, no point in living. And without you three, there would be no reason for me to carry on."

Sam had broken down again, emotions spilling down his cheeks in the form of salt tears. "Oh, Mr. Frodo. We all love you. I love you, so much, and I missed you soand now you're back! Ring out the bells! Sing all ye people! Sound the trumpets! Frodo's come home!" And with that, he pulled his best friend into his arms again, silently sending a prayer of thanks up to the Lady of the Stars. 


	3. Come Not Flinging Gloom on the White Day

Dreams of Hope, Dreams of Despair

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A/n: On reading the Epilogue to LotR, available in Sauron Defeated, I_ instantly fell in love with little Elanor Gamgee. This chapter is somewhat of a tribute to her._

Thank-you's go to GoldenWolf (I love your "seemingly-endless" Frodo/Bilbo story) and Mainecoon (getting a good review from you has been a minor miracle. I've been idolizing you for about two years. I feel so loved!).

_Disclaimer: We all know that Frodo and Sam are not mine. They belong to a wonderful, unfortunately dead professor. Well, sirs, if I could write stories like that, I would call myself an author._

Chapter 3: Come Not Flinging Gloom on the White Day

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"Come not as thou camest of late

Flinging the gloom of yesternight

On the white day"

-Alfred, Lord Tennyson, _Ode to Memory_

Sam slipped off his pony and trotted up to the door of Bag End, distancing himself from Frodo more than he had all day. He called out, "Rose! Rose, look who dropped by for tea!"

Rosie came out of the hobbit hole, laughing something about Sam's friends never being ones to pass up a free tea, but then came to an abrupt halt as she saw Frodo clambering off the back of Sam's pony. With a squeal of delight, she enveloped him in a tight hug. Sam, watching, remembered how much she had always loved fussing over him, and how she had treated him like another of her children. Frodo had grown up without his own mother, Sam reflected, and it must be nice for him to have Rosie mother him. The small girl who had trailed out behind Rose watched with curiosity in her dark blue eyes, wondering at the pageantry before her. She heard her mother saying, "You come sit down, and I'll make you such a luncheon as you've never seen." Who was this stranger? What was all the fuss about?

Sam saw her bright hair out of the corner of his eye as he walked towards the kitchen with his friend. He held a hand to stop Frodo, and pulled his oldest daughter over to where they stood. "Ellie, I want you to meet someone, a very old friend of mine. This is Frodo Baggins. This is Frodo of the Ring. Frodo, this is Elanor."

Frodo of the Ring? The greatest hero of them all, the Elf-friend, the poet who had given her her beautiful name? She just couldn't believe it. Se stuttered, "F-f-frodo? You're the real Frodo? Here? Oh! I"

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Elanor. Although, technically, we've already met, but I don't suppose that you remember that too well. I left when you were just a baby, after all. Your father told me you were going to be beautiful, and even though I never disbelieved him, I would never have recognized you. I've always remembered you as the day I left, but you're certainly no baby now."

"Thank you, sir. D-did-did you come from the land of the Elves, sir?"

"Yes, I did."

"Thencould you tell me about them? About the Elves? Someday," she said, nodding her head decisively, "Someday I'm going to go to Lórien and meet the Lord of the Trees and see my flower."

At this point Sam, who had been talking softly with Rosie, broke in. "Excuse me, Ellie, but I think that there are some other little hobbits inside who would dearly love to be meeting Mr. Frodo."

Frodo threw Sam a smile and strode off with him, hand in hand. Elanor stood gazing at the mallorn tree for a moment, thinking about the Ringbearer, and the Quest, and the strange, kind hobbit that had just given her such a very nice compliment. Then she ran to join her family in the kitchen.

***

Frodo looked at the straggling row of little hobbits with loving hilarity. Elanor stood beside her father, whom she obviously adored. The next tallest was a lad of about seven. Frodo felt a pang strike his heart, for this boy could almost have been Sam as he was long, long ago, when he had been his own accomplice, disciple, and second shadow. Wherever Frodo went, little Sam was sure to be somewhere nearby. Beside the lad, a small girl was holding the hand of an even smaller boy. The two of them looked up at him inquisitively. 

"The two little ones are Merry and Rose, and baby Pippin is asleep. Elanor you have already met. That leaves this scallywag," Sam said, ruffling the hair of the oldest boy affectionately. "This is our Frodo-lad. Named after my dearest friend." He threw Frodo a look. Frodo returned it, raising an eyebrow slightly. Sam blushed slightly, but did not look away.

The children watched this silent conversation with an increasing degree of interest, wondering who in Middle-earth this grey-cloaked hobbit was. Sam, seeing this, decided to put them out of their misery. "Everyone," he said. "This is Frodo Baggins. Yes, the same one that I read to you about from the Red Book. He's come back, and he's going to stay with us."

The little ones gazed at Frodo in silent awe and surprise, and then he was buried beneath a pile of little bodies, childish hugs, and piping questions. The Gamgee family had taken him to its noisy, prosaic, loving heart.

***

Rosie glanced up at the old grandfather clock that had stood in the corridor for as long as any of them could remember. "Time for you to go to bed, Ellie."

"But, Mum-"

"No buts. You've stayed up later than your brothers and sister, and just because tonight is a special night doesn't mean that getting up in the morning will be any easier than usual. Now be a good lass and go off to sleep. I can tell you're tired." Sensing the direction of Elanor's glance, Rosie said gently, "Mr. Frodo will still be here in the morning, don't you fret."

Hearing his name, Frodo looked up from his chair, where he had been deep in talk of olden days with Sam. "Rose," he said, "Do you think it would be all right if I put Elanor to bed tonight? I think that might make her a bit happier about it."

Rose looked from her daughter, who had burst into smiles at this suggestion, to Frodo, whose eyes begged her to let him do this. She threw up her hands in defeat.

Frodo's face blossomed into a wide smile.

***

After Elanor had changed into her little white nightdress, Frodo came in and sat beside her. "Mr. Frodo? Will you tell me a story? Like the ones you wrote in the Red Book?"

"All right. What do you want to hear about?"

"Something about the Elder Days, please. Sam-dad's told me all about Rivendell, and the King, but he don't know any stories about the Elder Days. But he said you did, and"

"A story of the Elder Days, hmm? Well, then, I'll tell you the story of the Two Trees of Valinor. It used to be my favorite, when Bilbo used to tell me stories. In the beginning, before the Sun and Moon were made, Yavanna Earth-Queen and Varda-"

"Is that Elbereth?"

"Yes, that's Elbereth. These two goddesses created two beautiful trees that both gave off light, one silver light and one gold. Their names were Telperion and Laurelin. And when the Elves awoke, they went to Valinor, and saw the light of the Trees, and they loved them. But then, Morgoth, the Dark Enemy of all the World"

***

Sam opened the door the tiniest of cracks, listening in. "But the light still lives on in one of the Silmarils, although the other two are lost. Here, come and look out the window. You see that star, the bright one just below the Swordsman of the Sky? That's the ship of Eärendil, and the light we see is the light of the last Silmaril, bound on his brow. So every time that you see that star, you are seeing a tiny bit of the light of the two Great Trees. And so the story goes on.

"Now, time for bed. Come on, lay your head down."

"Will you sing me a lullaby, Uncle Frodo? Please? Sam-dad always does, and I bet you know lovely songs."

"Of course I will, Elanor. Lie down, close your eyes, and I'll be right here."

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Thou wert nursed in some delicious land

Of lavish lights and floating shades:

And flattering thy childish thought

The oriental fairy brought

At the moment of thy birth

From old well-heads of haunted rills

And the hearts of purple hills

And shadow'd coves on a sunny shore,

The choicest wealth of all the earth

Jewel or shell, or starry ore,

To deck thy cradle, Elanor. *

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"I'm glad you came home," murmured Elanor sleepily. Frodo brushed aside a stray lock of her hair, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. He saw Sam standing at the doorway, and walked quietly out to meet him.

Sam said, "She's a sweet little thing, isn't she?"

Frodo replied, "She reminds me of a little gardener from Bagshot Row that I once knew, one who loved to listen to tales of the Elves."

***

Weeks passed by in a whirl of meetings, picnics, and parties. But then, one morning ten o'clock came and passed, and Frodo had still not emerged. Sam, worried, went timidly into his room, and saw him sitting huddled up at the broad, ink-stained desk. His eyes seemed strangely distant, as though they were not seeing the Shire at all. The Red Book was open before him. He had the pages turned to the earliest parts of his own story, the parts recorded in Bilbo's wandering hand. The parchment was wrinkled and smeared with round, damp tearstains. "Frodo? Are you all right?"

"Oh, yes, Sam. Itsits just"

Sam's sudden realization of the date bathed his face in understanding. It was October the Sixth. "Is it your shoulder, then?"

"Yes, a little bit."

"Seems to me like it hurts more than just a little bit."

"Well, yesbut it's also that, welloh Sam, I miss Bilbo so!"

"Oh, Mr. Frodo, I'm sorry." Sam didn't know what to say. He knew the pain that Bilbo's loss must be causing his master, and how much worse the continuing aching in his shoulder made things. At a complete loss, he hesitantly played his trump card. "I was wondering if you wanted to come have breakfast with Elanor. She insisted on waiting for you. I'm thinking she'd really like to be seeing you..."

The wraith of a smile flitted over Frodo's face as he stood up slowly. "All right, then. It'd be a shame to keep her waiting." He shuffled off blearily to the kitchen.

Sam looked on in relief as the smile on Frodo's face continued to brighten as the little hobbit-maid warmed his heart. She fussed over him in much the same fashion as her mother, buttering his toast and pouring him a glass of apple juice. Sam sighed. For now, at least, everything would be okay. The dark thought drifted from his mind, borne away on rays of late morning sunshine.

* Used with all due apologies to Tennyson. The poem's actual title is _Elëanore, _but it just seemed too perfect to pass up. 


	4. What Though the Darkness 'Round me Close

Dreams of Hope, Dreams of Despair

A/n: Huge hugs to everyone who reviewed: Kirinki (hoo, Kiri, nice of you to finally got round to reviewing me! Honestly! "Pippen", "Elbarith", who taught you to spell, girlie? Pipsqueak is always curious, witness the Moria Gate, the Palantir, etc.), Spot's Fairy (Yes, this story is already mostly completed. I hate it when authors drop interesting stories halfway through), Indigo (Your wish is my command! Severe angst ahead.), and Jen.

Chapter 3: What though the Darkness Round me Close

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What though the tempest loudly roars,

I hear the truth it liveth.

And what though the darkness round me close,

Songs in the night it giveth

-How Can I Keep from Singing, Enya

The dancers skipped nimbly through a Daisy Chain Reel, intertwining their hands merrily. Frodo Baggins stood looking at them, a wistful smile on his face. He had returned to his beloved Shire nearly five months ago, and had been reveling in joyous reunions with his long-sundered friends. And yet, uncertainty was steadily overtaking him. The old darkness had been creeping up on him, and he had felt his paltry defenses against it weakening. Even though he had not found healing in the Blessed Lands, the intensity of his illnesses had at least eased. Now the overwhelming wave of cruel memories seemed to rise up before him, gleaming with fell lights, threatening to swamp him. There could be no resistance, and no survival. He would die here, die because of his own folly in trying to return to his old life although he was still not his own self. 

He had fallen back into his old habits of concealment, feeling that he could not bear to dim the brightness and joy in his dear Sam's brown eyes. This party had been Merry's idea, and Frodo had reluctantly agreed to make an appearance. He had not wanted to, but could not refuse Merry something so simple. He had missed his cousins sorely, and felt that at the moment he would have given them the moon, had they asked for it. Merry seemed to think that Frodo's return merited celebration at every possible occasion. 

The Darkness was rising around Frodo rising inexorably. He struggled feebly against the growing tide, but felt himself being slowly pulled under. Gasping for breath, he surrendered, feeling that the struggle had gown too terrible. 

*****

Sam laughed gleefully as he and Rosie whirled about to the vigorous hobbit tune. As the music stopped they broke apart, panting. Sam excused himself, and made his way through the crowds of people Merry had invited to the refreshments table. But what he saw quickly expelled all thought of his thirst from him mind. In a moment of strange clarity he saw, separated from him by many milling, chatting hobbits, Frodo. All the others seemed to melt away, leaving only Frodo in Sam's eyes. He stood trembling, leaning against a window frame, his face grey with pallor, his breath coming in great, gasping heaves. Stirred into action, Sam bulled his way through the crowds, pushing and shoving roughly, ignoring everyone but his sick master and friend. When he at long last reached Frodo's side, he put his arms about him, offering his love and support. Frodo accepted both, leaning back into Sam's protective embrace with a grateful sigh. He clung to his friend, gulping for lack of air and suppressed emotion. He whispered hoarsely, "SamSam, help memust get outcan't breathe"

Sam looked at him, his concern shining out from his warm brown eyes. "Come on now, Mr. Frodo, it's alright. Let's get you out of here. Don't try to talk. It's all going to be okay now; your Sam is here. I'll not be leavin' you. Come on now."

They shuffled out together, Frodo leaning heavily on his friend. The garden was silent and peaceful, the sun having just set amid a profusion of pink and gold clouds. The air was cool, but not icy, and the natural world was just beginning to emerge from the long sleep of winter. Spring was peering around every hedge, announcing her presence with thousands of many-colored blossoms. Somewhere, hidden by the lavender veil of twilight, a slew of frogs began piping their song to the heavens, where the Evening Star glimmered with a soft radiance. Sam felt Frodo's trembling increase as he stood with his arms around him. He shook harder and harder, and began to sway slightly, as if dizziness had overtaken him. At last, Sam felt his body go limp. He caught his unconscious friend just before his body hit the damp moss. He sat down, not caring that the dew would quickly have him soaked, and pillowed the Ringbearer's head on his lap. 

Looking about himself in a near panic, Sam's eyes lit upon a young hobbit lad, one of Frodo's Took cousins. He waved the boy over, and whispered, "Be a good lad and run and fetch Master Merry." The child nodded, and scuttled off in search of his host. 

Despair filled Sam's faithful heart as he looked down at his friend. Frodo's body was shaken periodically by wracking tremors, and he was muttering uneasily. Leaning over him, Sam tried to make out his words, but caught only a few: "Smeagol", "Sam', "no", and "so heavy". Chills traveled down Sam's spine as Frodo's words woke memories that slept uneasily in his soul like dark birds of prey; the same memories that he knew were tormenting Frodo's mind and heart. His mind traveled back to those dark days, the days when he had watched helplessly as Frodo was beaten down and his heart was broken. A tear crept down the little hobbit's cheek. It seemed so unfair that after all Frodo had done, all the pains he had suffered, he should still be so haunted. 

Sam was startled out of his reverie by the arrival of a very irate Master Meriadoc. "What is it now, Sam? This had better be important. I was in the middle of-" his voice suddenly ceased, as his eyes fell on Frodo, lying pale and trembling in Sam's lap. "Oh dear. What happened?" Merry's eyes widened with shock and worry. 

Sam's voice quavered when he spoke. "I don't know, Mr. Merry. I just saw him go all pale and start trembling. He said he couldn't breathe, and asked me to bring him out here. Then he fainted. Oh, Merry, I don't know what to do! He's hurting somewhere, but I can't think of any way to help him. I just don't know what to do." Sam's voice had run a full gamut of emotions during this speech: from bewilderment to frustration to lingering despair. He trailed off, and silence settled over the three hobbits.

Merry was the first to find his voice. "Let's get you two home, eh Sam?"

"Merry, Ithank you."

"Not at all. You don't think I'd leave you two to deal with this alone, do you? When will you and Frodo learn that Pippin and I absolutely refuse to leave you alone when you are in trouble? We didn't let you two go gallivanting off to Mordor alone, and we won't desert you now. Come on, I'll harness your Bill to my cart." He strode off in search of Pippin and the pony. 

Sam turned back to Frodo. "Hang on, Mr. Frodo," he said gently. "Try to see past the shadows. I know it seems that there's no light anywhere just now, but keep on hoping. Remember that you're not alone now. I'm here with you, and I'll not be letting those shadows take you. I thought I lost you once, and my heart broke into a thousand pieces, each one smaller than a grain on sand. When I got you back, it was as if spring had come, after a long, cold winter. I've got you back, and I'll never let you go, never as long as there's a single breath left in my body." Almost imperceptibly, Frodo's trembling gentled, and some of the pain-filled lines on his face were smoothed away.

Second A/n: As I am an untrained high school student, I'd really appreciate some constructive criticism. Although I used to say that I wouldn't beg for reviews, there comes a time when we have to eat our words. Please read and review, for the noble cause of maintaining the sad remnants of Lotesse's sanity!


	5. No Light, But Rather Darkness Visible

Dreams of Hope, Dreams of Despair

A/n: Thank-yous go to Rachel (Warning: you are in the presence of the Spelling Nazi), Renee (I solemnly swear to complete this fic), and Epona (I love your Frodo/Sam story. You are certainly a brilliant writer.)

Disclaimer: Honestly. You think I'm really the ghost of Tolkien? Um, that would be a negative.

Chapter 4: No Light, But Rather Darkness Visible

__

A dungeon horrible on all sides round

As one great furnace flamed, yet from these flames

No light, but rather darkness visible.

-Milton, _Paradise Lost_

Sam looked on helplessly as Frodo tossed uneasily beneath the soft quilt Rosie had made for him in the years just after the Quest. Sam hadn't moved from his position at the side of the bed for two days, not since he'd brought Frodo home. His heart had broken hourly as he had watched Frodo succumb more and more to his illness. Frodo murmured constantly, reliving the darkest hells of his life, which were considerably darker than most. Hi hair lay in limp, damp curls on his pale forehead, soaked by sweat. He burned with a consuming fever, and shivered with a deadly chill. He had neither eaten nor drunk since his collapse. His left shoulder was especially cold, and the flesh around it seemed transparent and fragile, as if it were barely there. 

Now, his cracked voice gained volume rapidly as he cried, "No! Noall dark. Whereno, no, stop, I'll tell you, no, I'll never tell you, no Sam, help! Where are you? Dark, so darkalone, I've lost it, lost my preciousso coldfailed, the Ring is lost, so sorry, SamSam! Hurry! A Elbereth Gilthoniel! Stay awayno, no moreI won't tell youit hurts, oh it hurts, pleasemust be dead, gone, lost. Flaming rain, it's falling on meoh, it burns! Nono, stop, nohe has a whipstay away, A Elbereth! No"

Sam gasped for air as he realized where Frodo's ailing mind had taken him. His friend had never spoken of his time as the prisoner of the Orcs of Cirith Ungol, and Sam had never asked, knowing that he would not be able to bear it, and preferring to let Frodo forget those horrors. But he hadn't forgotten, and pity and remorse wrung Sam's heart. He stooped over Frodo's small figure on the bed, and ran a soothing hand over him, trying to drive off the shadows with all the love in his faithful hobbit's heart, trying in vain to keep his hot tears from falling on his friend. As Frodo quieted at last, Sam sank back into his rickety armchair, tears seeping uncontrollably from his eyes, heavy and shadowed from lack of sleep. He clung to Frodo's hand, his fingers running over the strange gap between the third and last fingers. Frodo's voice echoed in his mind, "Failed, the Ring is lost, so sorry" If only Frodo knew. The failure was not his, but Sam's own. He had failed the task appointed to him, to his own despair. He had left his master all alone, unguarded and helpless on the cold stones of the pass of Cirith Ungol, and had not come to his rescue soon enough. He had not been able to prevent the horrible torture his master had endured. Frodo's cries of both real and remembered pain ate away at Sam's heart, and he could not keep himself from feeling responsible for them. It was his fault that Frodo had suffered so at the hands of the Orcs, his fault and his alone. It was his job, his task to protect the Ringbearer, and he had not done so. He had failed his mission, and in doing so had failed his best friend. He felt sobs of despair and frustration building in his chest, felt himself powerless to stay them. At last he gave in and sobbed his sorrow into the rumpled sheets. The scent on them was a mixture of the comforting and familiar odors of lavender, soap, tea, and pipeweed that always clung to his friend and the metallic tangs of fear, sweat, and pain.

A soft touch on the back of his neck made him leap to his feet, positioning himself protectively in front of his fallen friend. Then he relaxed, as if he were a puppet that had been dropped from its strings, as he realized that the intruder was only his Rosie. Her hand clasped his shoulder tightly as she said, "Sam? Whatever is the mater?"

The softness of her touch and the love in her voice left him no choice but to break down completely. "RosieI can't stand this. I can't bear it, watching him suffer. It's worse even than it was in Mordor, because then at least I could do something to help him, even if it wasn't much. And even worse, I know that so many of his dreadful memories are my fault. I should have done more to help himbut I didn't, and now it's killing him and me too. I don't know what to do to help him. He needs help so badly, but I don't know what to do!"

A look of intense concern passed through Rosie's eyes. "Sam, I've been thinking about all of this, and I think we need to get help. "

"Of course we do! But that's not-"

"Listen to me, Sam. You wrote in the Red Book that you both nearly died after you were rescued from Mordor, and that one of your friends, who was a great healer, saved you both. I can't remember who it was, but could he, would he help Mr. Frodo now? "

Sam looked thunderstruck. "Why you ninnyhammer, Sam Gamgee! How come you didn't think of that? Of course Strider will be able to heal him. You're brilliant, Rose. Aragorn will be able to do something for him, that's for sure. That is, if only he'll come."

***

That evening, as Rose was busying herself in the kitchen, she felt a small hand tug on her skirt. Turning, she found her oldest daughter looking up at her with a worried countenance. "Mummy, what's wrong with Uncle Frodo? Is he going to die?"

Rose knelt down by Elanor, quickly reassuring her. "Oh no, dear one. Don't fret your pretty head with that. He'll be all right in no time. You like him, then?"

"Oh, yes. He tells such nice stories. But he always looks so sad. Was he always sad, back when Sam-dad knew him, before you had me?"

"Mr. Frodo did great things, Ellie, like your father's told you. Bu they weren't easy for him to do, and he had a hard time of it. Stories don't always have happy endings, Elanor, and Mr. Frodo's is one of those. Even though he did what he meant to do, it hurt him bad. He's never really been the same. Oh, but Frodo Baggins was quite a different hobbit when I was a lass. He and your Dad were as thick as thieves, always dreamin' on about some tale of old Bilbo's. They could make any lass laugh, those two, although Master Merry and Master Peregrin were far worse."

"Mummy, why doesn't Sam-dad want to see us anymore? He never comes to dinner, or asks me what I was playing at out by the mallorn with Fro, or anything."

Rosie sighed. To tell the truth, she had been missing Sam a fair bit herself, but felt bad for it in her generous heart. "Sam's a very busy hobbit, Ellie. There's lots of people who need your dad. Why, all the Shire needs him sometimes, as he's Mayor. Sometimes it's me or you as needs him worst. But right now, Mr. Frodo needs him more than anyone, and your dad's giving all his time over to taking care of Frodo. Don't you fret. Soon he'll be better, and then you'll have you Sam-dad back at the dinner table. Everything's going to be all right."

***

Sitting in his customary chair at Frodo's bedside, Sam dearly hoped so. He re-read the letter he had just finished writing. 

Dear Strider,

As you probably know, I've been having strange dreams. Well, the turned out to be true! Frodo has come back, he's back in the Shire. But everything isn't going so well now.

I, or rather Mr. Frodo, am in desperate need of your help. Frodo has fallen very, very ill, and I'm at my wit's end with what to do for him. You've brought him back from death before, and they do say that the hands of a king are the hands of a healer.

I know that you made a law against Big Folk coming into the Shire, but Frodo can scarcely travel in his state. If you don't come, I'd not wager much on his chances of living. Right now, it's a choice between breaking your own decree and letting Frodo die. 

Please don't let him. Come and save my master and your friend. You are his, and my, last hope. Please, Strider. 

Sam Gamgee

***

Sam had his Frodo-lad, known to all and sundry (these were the littlest children) as Fro, take his letter to the post where a messenger was always waiting. He then returned to Frodo's room, doing all that he could to ease his master's rest. There was no more he could do for now. All he could do was watch and wait for the coming of the King. 


	6. Misty Dreams and Shadowed Memories

Dreams of Hope, Dreams of Despair  
  
Chapter 6: Misty Dreams and Shadowed Memories  
  
1 In misty dreams and shadowed memories  
  
Of fabled cities I have dwelt apace…  
  
In crystal splendor I have spanned the seas…  
  
-Song of Dyfyddiaeth (sixth century)  
  
  
  
As the sun rose in golden splendor over Hobbiton, igniting diamond-like gleams on the calm surface of the mill-pool, a figure stained by long travel rode up to the green door of Bag End. He dismounted from his tall grey horse and rapped softly on the circular door.  
  
It was opened by a pretty hobbit lass of about ten who was fiercely wiggling away at a loose tooth with her tongue. "Hello. Who are you?" she asked. "I'm Elanor, only Sam-dad calls me Elanorellë."  
  
It was all that the stranger could do to keep from laughing, which was scarcely unusual. Hobbit children tended to have that effect. "Is your father about at all, little one?"  
  
"No, he's very busy, but I'll go get Mummy." With that the charming creature ran off into the hole, shouting, "Mummy! Mummy! Someone wants to see you!"  
  
Rose Gamgee came out of the kitchen, rolling down her sleeves and drying her hands on a voluminous blue-checked apron. Seeing the tall traveler, she blushed crimson and sank, rather clumsily, into a deep curtsey. "My Lord…forgive me, sire, but I didn't know you was coming, and-"  
  
Aragorn raised a hand, and Rose fell silent. "No, Rose. I am not here as a king coming to the home of a vassal, but as a man coming to aid a friend. You have no need for formalities, or for apologies. But where is Sam?"  
  
Rosie's face fell. "He's with Mr. Frodo. D'you want me to take you to them?" Aragorn nodded, and the two set off down the round, tunnel-like passage. The door to Frodo's room was pulled almost to, and a mantle of silence seemed to cover everything. Aragorn gently pushed the door open and entered the darkened room.  
  
***  
  
Pippin peered around the hedge of Number Three Bagshot Row, neatly trimmed by Sam, looking for whoever it was whose crying had brought him out-of- doors. He and Merry had been staying there, not wanting to be too far from their friend. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw Merry's curly head, bent over his knees as he curled into a tight ball, hiding from the world's sight. "Merry?" he whispered as he slid down next to his cousin. "Is it about Frodo?"  
  
Merry sniffled, and then nodded. "Oh, Pippin, he looks so awful. What if-what if he dies? What then?"  
  
"It'll be all right, Merry. Aragorn will be here soon, and I'm sure he can cure Frodo. Our cousin's a fighter. He must get it from you, as he certainly didn't get it from me. I'm the one who cried all night over a splinter, remember? If anyone can overcome this, Frodo can. You know how strong he is."  
  
"Don't you mean how strong he was? He's not strong anymore. Pip, he's hurt. He's hurt and he's sick and I have a horrible feeling that he won't make it!" Merry succumbed to his despair, and wept into his cousin's shirt, as he had so often in the years after Frodo's departure. It seemed to him that Frodo would be leaving them again, but this time there would be no hope of return.  
  
***  
  
Sam sat slumped on the bed, his head drooping sideways and his breathing heavy. Frodo lay limp in his lap, encircled by Sam's brown arms, on eof Sam's work-hardened hands on his forehead. They looked at peace, as if both had found solace for their troubles in soft dreams. Indeed, they looked much as they had when Gollum had found them sleeping before the Stairs of Cirith Ungol, although Aragorn did not know this. With catlike tread*, he approached them, but he was not quiet enough. Sam started into wakefulness, hope and delight chasing away the confusion on his face. "Strider! Oh, thank the stars you've come! Can you help him?"  
  
"Greetings, Samwise. It is good to see you, and Frodo, although I wish that it were not under such dire circumstances. I do not know if I can be of any help to Frodo, but I will try. But you, Sam, you look exhausted. Go get some rest. I will stay with Frodo, and you need not fear for him."  
  
"Oh, Mr. Strider sir, no! Don't send me away! He…he sleeps quieter when I hold him. It' the only way he gets any peace. And what if something was to happen to him? No, I'm staying right here."  
  
"So it shall be then. You have a stout heart little friend, and I wonder that I am still surprised by you. I should be used to it by now." He turned to Frodo, feeling his forehead, peeling back his shirt to probe the ghastly white scar on his shoulder. As Sam watched, he seemed to go into a trance, far away from the Shire. Sam drew his knees up to his chest and prayed to whoever might be out there listening.  
  
***  
  
Frodo was wandering hopelessly through the dreadful vale of Minas Morgul, lost among the rotting flowers. His mind felt waterlogged with horror, and thoughts seemed to float pass him to quickly for him to grasp. He fond a path, and followed it aimlessly. It led up a hill, a strangely familiar one. Frodo backed away, cowed by terror, as he recognized The Hill, the place where Bag End had once stood, the place that had once been his beloved home. The grass was blackened and scorched, and the green door that had been Bilbo's pride was falling into rotten splinters. On the sickeningly soft ground lay a body, decomposing skin and clothes held together by bleached bones. He tuned the grisly thing over, and found that it was the long-dead carcass of his beloved Sam. Gaping in hopeless disbelief, he stumbled away from that place, staggering like a man made drunk by fear and despair.  
  
He felt himself being drawn toward the Tower by the Ring as it pulled at its chain- the Ring! But he had destroyed it! No, this couldn't be happening, the Ring couldn't still exist…and then he was inside the City of the Magic of Death.  
  
Hideous, formless black shapes clogged the air, stifling his breath. The he felt himself pierce by a chillingly familiar cold. A Ringwraith!  
  
The Witch-King stood before him, a pale crown set upon his cadaverous brow, the weight of the metal digging furrows in the rotten flesh. He raised a skeletal hand, adorned but with one golden ring, to touch Frodo's face. At the cold, slithering touch Frodo screamed. He was the Lord of the Ring! This creature had no right to sully him thus. He would pay…no, no, the Ring was not his, he must resist it…Sam…help …  
  
And then a bright light seemed to burn away the darkness, as the morning sun burns away this mists of night. The Lord of the Ringwraiths gave a terrible cry and then he too was driven away by the light.  
  
A shinning figure, strangely familiar to Frodo, strode forward, holding the dark creatures at bay. He reached out a trembling hand to it, and it turned to him. He saw, enveloped in an aureole of light, a kind, weather-beaten, beloved face. A warm tenor voice spoke. "Frodo. Be at peace. See, your enemy is gone. You have conquered the Darkness. Come home now. Come home! You have wandered far, but you can still find your way. Listen. Do you hear Sam? He is weeping for you. Follow the sound of his love. It will lead you back, to home and health. Come."  
  
The shining presence drew away, and Frodo called out to it desperately. "Aragorn!"  
  
"It will be all right, Frodo. Come home." With that, the light faded, and Frodo was left all alone. Alone except for the faint sounds of crying. Sam, he thought. Sam loves me. I must go to him; he must not cry so on my account. "Hold on, Sam," he said. "I'm on my way back to you."  
  
  
  
  
  
*Good old "Pirates of Penzance", eh? I never could resist that show. For a lovely parody, check the Tolkien Sarcasm Page at http://flyingmoose.org/tolksarc/tolksarc.htm 


	7. Gilding Pale Streams With Heavenly Alche...

Dreams of Hope, Dreams of Despair  
  
Chapter 7: Gilding Pale Streams with Heavenly Alchemy  
  
Full many a glorious morning have I seen  
  
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,  
  
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,  
  
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;  
  
-William Shakespeare, Sonnet 33  
  
A/n: I am truly sorry for the ridiculous time gap between my postings. I've had three weeks of insanity, what with applying to an arts academy, performing Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, and being cast in "As You Like It" and "A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court". One could say I've been busy, if they felt like being presented with the Understatement of the Year Award Thank yous to all the wonderful people who reviewed, you keep me going!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own it. None of it. Isn't that depressing?  
  
  
  
As Aragorn left the room on trembling legs, utmost exhaustion paramount on his countenance, Sam felt the last vestiges of hope in his disbelieving soul crumble away into dust, dust blown away by the cold east wind, dust washed away by the tears that choked his throat and blurred his vision. Strider had failed. Even his King's hands had not brought healing to Frodo. Frodo would die, and Sam was powerless to save him. He had been defeated.  
  
Sam fell across the bed, burying his head in Frodo's chest, holding on to him tightly. He could no longer contain his tears, and they coursed down his tired face like rivers of fire. Darkness covered his heart, and he lay there a long time, forgetful of all but Frodo's ailing body beneath his head. He slipped into a fitful sleep, filled with images of Frodo's pale face and the sounds of his frightened voice. He shook himself free of sleep, only to find himself weeping again. His hope was gone.  
  
He was spiraling down into sleep again when he felt the lightest of touches on his hair. He sleepily tried to brush it away, but it persisted. Struggling to focus his muzzy thoughts, he looked up, and found himself gazing into a pair of dark eyes, eyes simply brimming with love although clouded by confusion. Then he began to take n the rest of the face that hovered above him. The large eyes peered out of a tired, pale face, framed by a tangle of wild brown hair. A hand untangled itself from his brown curls, and ran wonderingly down his tearstained face. A tremulous voice ventured, "Sam?"  
  
With a strangled cry of joy, Sam flung himself into Frodo's arms, which closed weakly around him. Sam's tears began anew, and Frodo wept as well, his tears falling like tiny crystals into Sam's hair. Sam simply could not believe it. His Frodo was awake, conscious, and able to recognize him. The dark before dawn had ended, and the Sun had risen.  
  
A small head poked around the doorframe. It was little Elanor, alerted by her father's cry. Her eyes widened as they swept the scene before her. Frodo of the Ring, the nice gentleman who had told her such wonderful stories about the Elves, as sitting up in the narrow bed, clasping her father to him. He looked up, and a smile lit up his gaunt face. She gave a squeak of happiness, and rushed to embrace him He was well! She called out, "Mummy! Fro! Come quick, he's awake, he's better!"  
  
Rose came running, followed by Merry and Rose-lass. Frodo came tramping in from the garden, where he had been doing his father's long-neglected weeding. All four of the young ones flung themselves at Frodo, and the bed became the center of a great knot of happy hobbits.  
  
The little ones suddenly drew back, quieting with awe. They had caught sight of a tall figure silhouetted in the doorway, watching the proceedings with a tired smile. Frodo cried out, "Aragorn!" and stretched out his arms to his old friend.  
  
In two strides the King crossed the room, knelt down, and embraced the Ringbearer. "Welcome home, Frodo son of Drogo. Welcome home."  
  
***  
  
"Frodo!" The ecstatic voices of Merry and Pippin brought a tired smile to Frodo's pale cheeks. In less time that it would take to say "hobbits" they were at Frodo's side. Merry, after assuring himself that Frodo was living flesh and blood, put his head down on the coverlet and gave in to a flood of tears.  
  
Frodo was aghast. "Merry?" he choked out, 'Merry, wha-what is it? I…I don't…it isn't-" he broke off, gasping for breath. His worry for his weeping friend was nearly suffocating him.  
  
Instantly Pippin was there. "Don't worry yourself, Frodo. We've been…very anxious for you. I broke down more than once, but Merry never did. I…well, let's just say that he's fine."  
  
Merry, controlling his sobs with some difficulty, said, "Yes, cousin, I'm fine. I don't mean to worry you, it's just that…oh Frodo…" and he took his trembling cousin in his arms. Muttering into Frodo's hair, Merry said, 'I didn't know if you were going to live or die. It was almost as dreadful as those weeks at Cormallen, when we didn't know if you would ever open your eyes again. Oh, but I'm glad to have you back!"  
  
Judging from the hug that Frodo gave him, the feeling was mutual.  
  
***  
  
Although Frodo begged him to stay, Aragorn decided to depart that evening, and remained adamant. "I have my own affairs to attend to, old friend. And by law I should not have come here at all. I must go now, but we shall meet again soon. Come Midsummer, the King and Queen will be holding court in their northern lands, and they would be pleased indeed to have such great ones as the Ringbearers present. Until then, Frodo, Namárië!  
  
***  
  
Frodo was restricted, at Aragorn's orders, to his room for a few days more. Then one evening Sam suggested that he come to the table with the rest of the family for supper. Frodo agreed, eager to leave the trammeling restfulness that pervaded his room, and so it was that sunset found Sam bundling Frodo into a warm, soft dressing gown and slippers, making sure he was warm and comfortable. Applause echoed around the cozy hole as, leaning heavily on Sam, but on his feet again at last, Frodo lowered himself into his accustomed seat at the old hardwood supper table. Dinner that evening was a joyful affair, although rather subdued. The smaller children took almost conical care not to bother Frodo, and Sam's whole attention was trained on his old master. As soon as Frodo began to nod, Sam had him cradled safely in hi strong arms, carrying him back to his bed. Tucking him in tenderly, Sam again gave silent thanks to Whoever had given him his Frodo back. Frodo, already half asleep, murmured, "Sam? 'S'that you?"  
  
Sam reached out and smoothed his brow comfortingly, replying, "Yes, Mr. Frodo, it's just me. Why don't you go to sleep now? You're all in, and you know you just got up today."  
  
Frodo's face wrinkled into worry, and he said, "Are you…will you be leaving, then?"  
  
"No, not at all, not if you don't wish it. I'll stay right here 'til you fall asleep, how's that then?" It was apparently very suitable, as Frodo nestled down into his blanket with a contented sigh. Sam let his hands idly run through his friend's hair, wondering if there had ever been a moment as wonderful as this in all the history of the world. 


	8. A Sheltering Tree

Dreams of Hope, Dreams of Despair  
  
A/n: This is it, folks. The end of the longest story I have ever written. Thank-you's go to Ashley (No, I don't really even have a life, I just live in a very musical small town), and Arien (Glad you're enjoying it, dear), but most of all Kirinki, for putting up with me as I wrote this, listening to my semi-incoherent babbling, and above all being the most loving baby sister a Ringer could have.  
  
Disclaimer: No, Middle-earth is no closer to being mine than it was last time I have to disclaim it.  
  
Chapter 8: A Sheltering Tree  
  
1 Friendship is a sheltering tree  
  
-S.T. Coleridge  
  
The next morning, Sam sat at the pen-scarred desk beside Frodo's bed he sighed, and Frodo, attentive to his friend's mood, said, "Sam? What's wrong?"  
  
"Oh, it's nothing, Frodo. Don't you worry."  
  
"Sam, I know something's troubling you. Now tell me. You won't trouble me any more by telling me that by refraining to do so."  
  
"Well, I…Mr. Frodo, what happens now? Can you bear to stay here? I mean, the Darkness seems to be just getting worse, and I can't seem to be of any help to you. Won't you be leaving again? I don't know if I'll be able to bear it, but if you must, you know I only want the best for you, but it is hard…"  
  
"Oh my dead Sam, is that what's troubling you? No, Sam, I'm here to stay. You can help me more than anyone else living, Samwise. Had I been in Valinor these last weeks, I would have died. I don't know why it took me so long to see that your love was better than all the ministrations of the Valar out together. I promise, Samwise Gamgee, that I will never leave you again. That is," his voice faltered, "If you don't mind taking care of me. Its not fair of me to ask it, I know, but I don't know if I could bear…I don't want to burden you with the wreck of my life, dearest Sam, and if you wish it I'll go, I just…"  
  
"Frodo, don't you even be thinking like that! If I could take all your hurts on myself and leave you free of them, I'd do it quicker than blinking. If you were to leave me…well, I dunno as I'd ever forgive you, so you'd best stay right where you are."  
  
Sam gathered Frodo up into his embrace, holding him as if he were simply another of his children. Frodo found himself reflecting on Sam's command to remain where he was. If Sam meant that Frodo should stay locked in his arms forever, he'd do it gladly. Aloud, he said only, "You are my shelter, Samwise Gamgee."  
  
***  
  
Twilight fell like a soft blanket over the Grey Havens. They were more unchanging than the foundations of the earth, Frodo thought to himself. This place seemed just as it had the night when the Ringbearers had sailed away from Middle-earth. Much had changed in the wide world since then, but this place had remained constant. The only differences were that it was a hobbit-lass and two elderly patriarchs that were left behind and forlorn on the shore and two ripened hobbits that were to take the whale- path westward.  
  
A stifled sob from behind him put an end to Frodo's ruminations. He turned to see Elanor, her face reddened and blotched by grief. His heart went out to her, and he longed so to end her sorrow, but knew that he could not. He had never known the pain of being left alone on the Hither Shore. But Sam had.  
  
Sam put his arms, still sturdy even in old age, around his eldest daughter, allowing her to weep into his comforting shoulder. "There now, you hush your tears, my Elanorellë. We're parting no sooner than we'd have to anyway, dearie. We're both old now, and our stories are nigh ended. But yours, Ellie, yours is only just begun. Be happy, Elanorellë, and live a life full of wonderful things. You deserve it, my sweet flower."  
  
They had reached the shore, and a tall Elf drew a gangplank down to meet the shore. Now Frodo too held Elanor tightly, whispering, "Do you remember the story I told you of the Star of Eärendil? How the one great Story will never truly end? In the night, look up at that star and think of s. Remember that your Sam-dad and your Uncle Frodo both love you dearly, and take hope. Never give up on hope, Elanorinya. Hold fast to it and you will never lack for light. Namárië!"  
  
Sam held her to him one last time, murmured, "Farewell, my Elanorellë," and took Frodo's outstretched hand. He followed him up onto the deck of the white ship. He waved to his daughter as the ship pulled away from the docks, as the sails were raised in a great flapping flurry. She would be all right. She had Fastred's love, and her siblings's, and the memory of his own. He turned his face towards the remnants of the sunset, feeling a stirring in his heart that he had deemed gone forever. He was embarking on his last adventure, and his Frodo was at his side. This journey would not end in heartbreak and torment, but in healing and bliss. And Sam and his master should never again be apart. Sam turned to Frodo, excitement shining out of his old eyes. "Stories never do have an end, do they, Master?"  
  
Frodo smiled at him and took his hand in his. "No, dearest Sam. They never do."  
  
***  
  
The Tale goes ever on and on,  
  
From the Great Song where it began.  
  
Now far, so fair! the Tale has gone,  
  
And I strain to hear it, if I can,  
  
Treading its dance with eager feet  
  
As it joins some other theme  
  
Where many threads and melodies meet  
  
And whither then? I cannot dream.  
  
***  
  
Finis,  
  
Or in the vulgar,  
  
1.1 The End 


End file.
